


only thing on is the radio

by Hella_Queer



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Car Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Nonbinary Bill Denbrough, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Character, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:42:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hella_Queer/pseuds/Hella_Queer
Summary: “Pull over.”
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	only thing on is the radio

**Author's Note:**

> I’m learning to be self-indulgent! Inspiration: Radio by Kesha

“Pull over.” 

The words are smeared against the side of his shaft, a deep rasp that has Mike’s fingers tightening their grip on the back of Bill’s neck. His eyes scan the road before them; it’s raining hard and heavy, pebbles on the hood of the car, and they haven’t seen anyone else in quite some time. Which is good, because Mike has been a little distracted. 

Mike considers teasing him, waiting until they get home, but Bill is sucking his dick like he was made for it, sloppy and loud and wet, like he’s too keyed up to be anything but desperate. Mike cants his hips up, just enough for Bill to swallow around him on reflex, deep enough that Bill coughs when he pulls away. Mike shouldn’t love that, the way Bill looks out of breath and a little dazed. He also shouldn’t be pulling over to the side of the road, gas tank high and inhibitions low. 

“Get those off,” Mike says about Bill’s shorts. When they had gone out for the day the sun was bright and warm, seemingly smiling down on them. Now in his tank top and way too small for the public eye bottoms, Bill shivers, goosebumps crawling up his arms. Mike knows he likes it, the chill, the way it makes his skin sensitive and gives him a reason to insert himself into Mike’s space. 

Bill peels himself out of his clothes, tossing them into the backseat, while Mike pushes his seat back. He reaches for Bill with single minded focus, not even batting an eye when Bill’s elbow knocks against the horn. He double checks that the doors are locked before pulling Bill down on top of him, one hand returning to the back of his neck while the other squeezes his ass. 

Mike can taste himself on Bill’s tongue. He licks into his mouth with broad strokes, until Bill gets the idea and lets his jaw go slack, letting Mike explore his mouth while the hand on his ass slips in-between his thighs. 

He’s wet, he knows he is. They spent the better half of a three hour movie working each other up, coats over their laps hiding skilled, practiced hands. Had they been at home Bill would’ve dragged him onto the floor, explosions ringing in surround sound as they made a mess of each other in the living room. He had to settle for palming Mike over his jeans during conversations he wanted to follow along with, watching him tighten his grip on the armrest. Grinning when dark eyes peered down at him, a threat and a promise swirling in their depths. 

He’s absolutely paying for it now, Mike fucking him much too slowly with two fingers, because he knows Bill’s patience is thinner than tissue paper. He can’t stand edging, being made to wait, being denied. Mike is so indulgent, so ready to give him anything he asks for, that Bill forgets just how self-serving he can be. 

Three songs. That’s how long Mike makes him wait. Bill digs his fingers into broad shoulders, knowing he’s not allowed to take over. Any time he tries to grind down against Mike’s palm or coax his fingers in deep, faster, Mike stops. He stops and waits until Bill stills, muscles jumping as he works to calm himself, and only then does he pick things back up. 

He’s trying to get him to crack, but Bill is unfortunately more aware of their surroundings than he lets on. The rain will slow eventually, and sooner or later some kind, nosy soul will make sure they aren’t in trouble. Bill wouldn’t mind putting on a show, but he’s not interested in sharing the way Mike falls apart when he finally allows himself to take what belongs to him. 

“There’s lube in the glove compartment,” Mike says, following his silent line of thinking. 

“I know,” Bill scoffs, already bending to grab it. He mourns the loss of Mike’s fingers with an involuntary groan. “I put it there!” He looks back to give Mike a _Look_ , but it fizzles out into a moan when he sees him with his fingers in his mouth. Tasting him. 

Bill bites the inside of his cheek, the faint ache in his jaw a reminder of how they got here. He gets the lube. He doesn’t think they need it, not with how he’s gagging for it, but he knows Mike gets off on the sounds they make, the slick glide when spit and precum and excitement combine. They left their windows wide open once when their neighbors had a party just so Mike could press into him from behind and keep him quiet with a hand over his mouth. Bill wants that but right now, in a car on the side of the road, where headlights could spell their doom. 

He kisses Mike with a renewed fervor, blindly pouring too much lube into his hand. Mike helps guide his hand to his cock, moaning loud enough to be heard over the rain when Bill grips him just tight enough to feel him throb. He works him back to full hardness in no time at all, leaving marks on his neck that are much higher than his collar will cover. 

“You’re in trouble when we get home,” Mike laughs, deep and husky. He nips at Bill’s nose when he wipes the excess lube on his shirt. 

“Your punishments leave a lot to be desired.” Bill gets as comfortable as he can given the limited space, one hand planted on Mike’s chest for stability. Mike doesn’t try to delay him, which shows just how eager he is for Bill to take him. He holds his cock steady with one hand and wraps his free hand around Bill’s hip, right below his **Property Of** tattoo. He squeezes hard, wanting to leave his mark, intending to finish the sentence like he has so many times before. 

A car passes just as Bill takes all of him, a flash of light and a roaring engine that shakes the road beneath them. 

Bill can feel Mike’s heart pounding underneath his palm, almost as fast as his own. Whatever magic bubble that had covered them until now seems to have popped, because traffic starts flowing in cars of three and five. Bill tightens up under each glaring light, grinding faster the closer they get, slowing when they pass. Mike thinks he’s falling in love all over again. 

“Want me to flag someone down?” Mike says against the shell of his ear, holding him close enough to restrict his movement. “Open the door and let everyone watch you?” 

Bill shudders from head to toe, clinging to Mike with a vice-like grip sure to leave bruises of their own. Mike digs his fingers into the meat of his ass and fucks up into him with a single goal in mind. 

“I wanna make you cry.”

_“Fuck!”_

It’s all Bill can do after that to keep his thoughts in order, to remember where they are, what his fucking name is. The traffic outside of the foggy windows thickens, cars rolling by at a leisurely pace. Bill wonders what they think about the car on the side of the road, music playing louder than the rain that’s beginning to lighten up. Bill imagines the sun shining down on them like a spotlight, illuminating them for the world to see. 

He pictures Mike’s old pickup truck and the mattress he would keep in the bed, and that day at the beach where they snuck off to kiss behind the rocks until they couldn’t stand it anymore. 

He thinks about the weekend they spent at Mike’s place wearing nothing but each other. How Mike watched him bathe in the sun between layers of sunscreen application. When he came out to join Bill and spent a good portion of the afternoon with his face between his legs. 

“Don’t pull out.” Bill slides a hand down his trembling stomach, through his pubic hair, gasping every other breath as Mike attempts to fuse them together permanently. “I want all of you, all of it.” 

Bill’s so fucking wet and there’s so much fucking lube that it’s so easy to bring himself over the edge. He likes when it hits him fast, no time to stop or cool down, not that Mike would think about denying him. Not now, when he’s pushing back against the roof of the car, back bowed, body shaking as he clenches around Mike’s cock. Not when he kisses him quick and dirty, begging Mike not to stop, egging him on, changing his name like he’s praying to the clouds that cast their darkest clouds above them. 

“When we’re home I want you to fuck me agsin.” Bill pants against Mike’s ear.

_“Mmm yeah?”_

_“Yeah,”_ Bill purrs, eyes fluttering closed. “Want you to— fuck _fuckfuck_ — fill me up, lick it back outta me.”

Mike’s hips falter in their rhythm. Bill can feel him struggling to hold back. That won’t do. 

He kisses his cheek, chaste and sweet, a great contrast to the way he lifts himself halfway off his cock before sinking back down, slow but deep, a solid smack smack smack that Mike endures with red cheeks and glassy eyes. So damn close. 

Bill kisses Mike’s neck, right below his ear, nibbling at his jaw like he knows he likes. He changes tactics, slow, sinful rolls of his hips that send trails of heat rolling down his spine. He curls an arm around Mike’s shoulders and drops his voice to a whisper. 

“Please?” 

Mike doesn’t manage to make him cry, but Bill prays that no one is passing by close enough to hear him scream. 

Bill loses track of everything that isn’t Mike’s teeth on his shoulder, his cock emptying inside of him, his skillful fingers stroking him all while Bill wails in his ear, breathless cries of Mike’s name that vary in pitch and length until he can’t say anything at all, until Mike swallows him up in a kiss that turns his remaining coherency to mist. 

“I can’t drive with you in my lap,” Mike says into his hair, many, many minutes later. Bill sinks deeper into his chest, sweat cooling on his back. He thinks about telling Mike that he can’t drive with his fingers playing with the cum leaking out of him, but he doesn’t really want him to stop. 

“Country boys make do,” Bill sighs, lifting his head with tremendous effort. He feels sore and warm and euphoric, giddy and sleepy. He peers out of the driver’s side window and makes a face. The fog has completely cleared. 

“I’m going to ruin the seats if I move.”

“They’re leather, baby, it’s fine.” 

Bill slaps his chest, still a little peeved that he’s the only one in his birthday suit. He spots his discarded shirt on the floor in the back and bends over the center console to grab it. Mike, as helpful as ever, slaps his ass. 

“Ow!”

“Oh please, that did _not_ hurt.”

“I’m sensitive, Mikey!”

Mike mutters something fondly, grabbing his jacket from the back when it’s apparent Bill isn’t going to be getting dressed any time soon. Not in his own clothes anyway. The image is even more distracting than before, the extra layer of possession, the way Bill stares at him like he could go again despite how sluggishly he’s moving. 

“You’ve got a little something in your lap there,” Bill says. Mike has yet to do up his pants, softening cock still on display. There’s wet wipes in the glove compartment, he knows this. They’ll probably shower as soon as they get home. 

Mike works on getting his seat back into place, starting the car, returning to the road like they only stopped to eat lunch or read a map. The longer he goes without covering up the hotter Bill’s gaze burns into him. 

“About how long, do you think?” Bill asks, rubbing his thighs together. He traces patterns on his bare skin, his shorts in his lap but not on. Mike should tell him to put them on. 

“Twenty minutes?” Mike shrugs, licks his teeth. “Maybe less.”

“Guess that depends on you, huh?” Bill does a bad job of hiding his smile as Mike hits the gas a little harder. “You remember what I said?”

“Do _you_ remember what _I_ said?” Mike counters, voice a little rough. “If that little tap earlier hurt I think you’ll be sleeping on your stomach tonight.”

The sharp intake of breath beside him gets buried under the music as Mike turns the radio up.


End file.
